lantern lights go on and off
by tomatohunter
Summary: Just a little drabble on Frank's life in which he realises that nothing lasts forever.


"We use lanterns to light the way to our ancestor's graves," Grandmother explained. Frank looked up in confusion. "But aren't their graves in China?" he asked innocently. Emily laughed as Grandmother huffed in annoyance. "Yes, yes. But we still have to remember where we come from—our roots, our heritage…" before she finished however, little Frank had run off, lantern and lighter in hand, off to the nearby field for Grandmother had forbade him to light the lanterns _anywhere_ near their house.

Frank's favourite Chinese holiday was Mid-Autumn Festival. It was the only time of the year he was allowed to use fire. Grandma never trusted him with fire for some reason. It was also the only time of the year that his mom would do anything to take time off her busy schedule and give it to them. He absolutely loved spending time with her—listening to her stories, hearing her laughter and just being with her.

Lanterns meant something to him. He knew that. He just didn't know what it was.

O*O*O

"I'll be off soon, Frank. You'll be okay without me?" she asked, wrapping her arms around her son. Frank sniffled loudly, tears welling up in his eyes. _I won't let them fall. I won't let them fall._ "Yeah," his voice came up an octave higher. Emily smiled gently at him. Then picking up her bag, she turned and walked out of the gate, glancing back once or twice until she could no longer be seen. "I'll be just fine," he whispered.

That Mid-Autumn Festival, he didn't go out to the field to light lanterns for fear that the memories of her would come back too fast and overwhelm him. Instead, he stayed at the gate the entire day, hoping, hoping, hoping to see her coming round the bend to the manor. It didn't happen. When evening came, Grandmother told him sternly to go back to his room. Surprisingly, she didn't yell. Or even make any of the special foods for the festival. The house was empty and silent. Just like his heart.

Without thinking, he picked up a box of matches and a paper lantern and moved to his room. Setting the lantern on his nightstand, he lit it and flopped onto the bed. Its orange flame glowed through the darkness. And somehow, that made him even more emotional. No, he couldn't sleep. He wouldn't. Sighing, he opened his drawer and pulled out his mother's letters. Taking one from the stack, he began to read.

Soon enough, the sun had risen. Frank found himself on the floor, a stack of letters in his hand. His first thought was, _how did I get down here?_ His second was, _had I fallen asleep?_ The questions made his head swim in confusion. Feeling nauseous, he picked himself up and unintentionally glanced toward his nightstand. The flame had died, smoke curling from the tip of the candle. Frank was sure it was a sign. He just didn't know what it was.

Later that morning, a well-dressed army officer appeared on his doorstep, wearing a sorrowful frown on his face. He presented them medals and told them that "Emily Zhang was a brave woman. She died saving her comrades. We are proud of her." Of course the only reason an officer had come to their house was because she died. Joy.

The remainder of the day was spent under his blankets, crying his eyes out. In his heart, a single lantern flickered and died down.

O*O*O

Frank wasn't too sure of the exact date of the festival. His Grandmother was the one who would calculate the days and months of the lunar calendar. Or something like that. But without her around, Frank suddenly felt lost. Then, a snippet of memory from her slipped into his mind.

" _Grandmother? Why is the moon so round?" little Frank asked._

" _It has always been round. You just didn't notice it." She said, sounding a tad irritated by his meaningless questions. "Besides, you'll know when the festival always falls on a full moon."_

 _Frank blinked and nodded his head vigorously, not really understanding._

A full moon. Frank glanced up at the darkening sky. Stars appeared out of nowhere, twinkling like little lamps. Or lanterns. Then, the moon came. A large, silvery ball suspending in the night.

Hesitating just the tiniest bit, he pulled out a candle and a match. He wasn't too afraid of the flames anyway. His eyes flickered to the stars and saw that they had formed a constellation of a girl with a hunter's bow, firing arrows into the darkness. A constellation he had never heard about. He wondered what her story was. All constellations had some sad, tragic backstory. At that moment, he wondered if his mother and grandmother were up there, watching him. Two brave women who didn't deserve to die. The candle was then lit and set on the ground in front of him.

"Hey." Frank looked up into a pair of golden eyes. "What are you doing?" she asked curiously, sitting on the ground next to him.

"Oh, um, it's a Chinese tradition. I mean festival." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "We're supposed to use lanterns but I don't have any with me so…" his voice trailed off and Hazel laughed. A tinkling sound like that of wind chimes blown by the wind, melting away all his fears.

Sitting there with her, he felt a little spark inside of him. He knew their time was limited and he wanted to make the best of it.

O*O*O

"She was kind, sweet, never said or did anything to hurt anyone." His voice was too soft. The faces around him were blurry. His cheeks were wet. "Cancer is something you can't avoid. It's cruel. And that's why it chooses to hit the nicest people. She told me, before she died, that she had escaped death too many times. It was her time to go. But I didn't want to let her go. It hurt too much." Tears overflowed his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. Someone put an arm around him, but he couldn't tell who it was. He was just too distraught.

Frank pushed his way out of the crowd, coming out into the open air. It was too beautiful. Too beautiful for a day like this. The moon was shining brightly. The stars were twinkling happily. Like she was in there, smiling down at him. Maybe she was.

He walked to a small field, where a single lantern lay. She lit that, before she was gone. It flickered slightly, wavering with the cool breeze. A tear dripped off his chin and fell onto the flame. It flickered once, and died out. His heart was heavy. Too many people had taken off of him. His mom, his grandmother, and now her.

Without thinking, he took a stick and wrote in the dirt:

 _Hazel Levesque_

 _Born: December 17, 1928_

 _Died: November 24, 2016_

It pained him to write that she was dead, gone. And the only thing she left behind was the memories they shared. The lanterns in his heart had burned away. No more fuel left for a fire to start. It was empty, cold and alone.

 **Meh.  
** **Please review! Even if I don't deserve it.**

 **-tomatohunter**


End file.
